Pawn in Frankincense - Dorothy Dunnett [175]
Already, his hand on Salablanca’s shoulder, Lymond had stepped out of his shoes and, cap in hand, was walking up to the dais. From the door Onophrion, approving the hang of the one-shouldered cloak and the line of the dark silken hose, which it met at mid-thigh, saw the dervish’s eyes flutter. To Eastern eyes, used to the modesty of an ankle-length robe, the costume was strange. Then Lymond swung off his cloak at a gesture of the Bektashi Baba’s, and giving it with his cap and gloves to the smiling eunuch behind him, said politely, ‘The honour is mine. I fear however you have been misled. I come merely as a Special Envoy to the great prince Sultan Suleiman. M. de Luetz, Baron d’Aramon, holds with unequalled distinction the post of French Ambassador to the Sublime Porte.’
‘Thou wilt be seated? Verily,’ said the Bektashi dervish with placid regret, ‘I am shamed that thou speakest my language when thine should have fled from my tongue, as a garment becomes dissundered and worn out by being long folded. Thou wilt eat? My servants put our poor fare before thee. I bear news then, which I trust will rejoice thee. The Baron d’Aramon, may he be blessed, being faint in his condition of health, is about to leave his office for France, and since winter is nearly upon us, none may now be sent before next spring to succeed him. Therefore, when you reach Stamboul, you will find there letters from France now awaiting you, accrediting you as full Ambassador to the Sublime Porte. My felicitations.’
‘Thank you. It is an unsought but magnificent honour,’ said Lymond dryly. They had brought low tables, and a burden of great steaming bowls in copper, silver and bronze: Onophrion, his nose twitching, craned to identify them. His gaze on the bowl; his fingers picking here and there among the heaped rice and meat: ‘Truly, as ducks are drawn by the decoyman into his pipes, the wind bringest thee news,’ Lymond added.
The Baba smiled. ‘You have heard perhaps of M. Chesnau, who accompanied M. d’Aramon on the Sultan’s Asiatic campaign five years since? He has just passed through here, returning to Stamboul with a secretary of M. d’Aramon’s in order to deputize at the Embassy until you should arrive. From him I have these tidings.’
‘Surely then it is a misfortune,’ said Lymond, ‘that I shall not bow before the lion face of the King of Kings, the Sultan Suleiman. I hear he marches.’
‘It is true,’ said the Baba. He drew from his sash a piece of ivory silk whose border, six inches wide, was filled with the interlaced titles of Allah, and wiped his grey beard. ‘After next summer, the Grand Sophy will try our patience no longer. The Sultan marches from Stamboul by the end of the autumn to rest in his pavilions at Aleppo until the spring, when like the lion you call him, he will spring on the jackal of Persia and tear out its throat.… It is possible,’ said the Baba blandly, ‘that you might reach Stamboul before the Sultan leaves. Should this felicity be withheld from you, surely Achmet Pasha would welcome the emissary of France as he would greet the august friend of his household, and would listen, assuredly, to any representation he might make.’
Achmet Pasha. A man of little account. The second Vizier. Onophrion Zitwitz’s eyes fleetingly met Salablanca’s, and then dropped. The Sultan, then, was leaving his capital, and the Grand Vizier Rustem Pasha was also in the field. Lymond did not even raise his head, although his smile deepened. ‘Indeed, I see thou art a man of discretion. There is indeed a matter on which I had hoped to speak to the Beglierbey tonight. Thou knowest perhaps of the Western child born into Dragut Rais’s harem which we are endeavouring to recover, and which was mistakenly included among the Children of Devshirmé? Also of the young English girl who has attached herself to the child in an apparent